


Ir abelas, ma vhenan

by BekTehGreat



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Nudity, Original Character Death(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 01:00:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3309947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BekTehGreat/pseuds/BekTehGreat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Compassion isn't weakness. Compassion is strength. But even those who are surrounded with death can crumble at the loss of a loved one.<br/>Lavellan is told of a death in the clan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ir abelas, ma vhenan

**Author's Note:**

> Lot of feelings in here, mostly because of recent happenings in life. Just needed some comfort in my life from my Culley-Wulley. Hope yall can get some too.

She always figured she was never destined to be a leader. She was better with daggers and stealth and didn’t have the magic required to make her a candidate for Keeper. She was content with being born without the magic, much rather being able to quietly slip in and out of the camp as she pleased, hunting and being at peace amongst the wildlife. She enjoyed interacting with elves of other clans and shems alike, but she was never one to give orders or one that people looked to for strength and guidance.

Her mother had said that what she lacked in magic, she made up for in curiosity and compassion. The Keeper agreed, causing some friendly competition between her and the First. Although the First was several years her elder, and she was much more content bringing happiness to the others. She was gentle and never did enjoy being a part of the tougher decisions the clan would make when facing danger or tragedy.

When becoming the leader of the Inquisition, she began to understand exactly what the Keeper saw in her. Whatever invisible thing that made the Keeper decide to send her to the summit was seen by the ones that named her Inquisitor, and her belief in it allowed her to lead. Although still new to the difficulties of being a leader, she continued to surprise herself at her ability to make difficult decisions, judge others, and be faced with the lives given toward the name and the thing she represented.

Much of the frustration and guilt born of being a leader she carried within herself, occasionally taking several throwing daggers to a particularly thick tree. Some was coxed out by her companions in talk and drink and game. A good amount was given in silent touches and gazes with her commander in the late hours.

She locked eyes with him across the large war table as Josie and Leliana discussed details of some Orlesian matter that didn’t seem too important and felt heat rise to the tips of her ears when he shared a shy smile.

There was a few quick knocks on the door, opening quickly to reveal a scout with a letter in hand. He paused at the door and waited for the Commander to wave him over before approaching the table.

“Sorry to interrupt. This is an urgent letter for the Inquisitor.” He held it out to her and her eyes widened at the parchment. She took it in her hand and quickly glanced it over without opening it: It was from the clan. Most letters from the clan, well the ones that were urgent, were given to Leliana or Cullen. An urgent letter given directly to her? She met eyes with the scout and he wore a poor mask of neutrality; mouth a straight line but eyes were connected slightly to the side of hers.

She nodded saying a quick thank you before moving to open the note. She saw the delicate hand of the Keeper greeting her. She felt her hands tremor as she read. There was a fever that plagued the hunt group. One perished, everyone else lived. She felt a lump form in her throat. She read the name over and over. _Falael_ …

She felt the weight of her tears sit on her lashes, finally slipping onto the parchment. She dealt with death every day, talked to her men and women every day. She spent much of her time helping Cole while she was in Skyhold. Slowly her world had begun to darken.

“Notriel?”

She looks up at the low, gentle voice. Her golden commander wore a worried brow, eyes searching her face. He looked older when he worried and it pained her further. She glances at the other advisors, realizing he must have called her several times before calling her by her given name.

She refolds the letter and holds it close. “I…” She starts, words crackling with the emotion she attempted to keep at bay. She forced herself to swallow them down. “I am sure that enough planning has been made to get us through for some time? I’m going to… retire to my chambers.”

Leliana nodded, reading the elf’s face just as if she had read the parchment clutched to her chest. Josephine’s quill quickly skittered as she simply stated “Of course Inquisitor. I’ll send word out to your companions?”

The elf nodded, adding quickly “I’ll speak with them tomorrow.”

She wanted to look at the commander, feeling his eyes still on her, but she turned her gaze toward Leliana. “How much time…”

The spymaster raised her hand. “We just accomplished many tasks these past weeks. I’ll take care of any lingering business.” Her eyes shifted toward the Commander, nodding with a small sad smile.

She nodded once more before finally, _finally_ , looking toward her commander. She saw the tension even under his armor. “Cullen?” His name cracked deep in her throat and she looked down. She soon felt his arms pull her close to him and allowed a heavy shaking sigh before pulling away.

She began to walk out of the room and heard his heavy steps following her. A few Orlesians kept their gaze on the pair in the main hall, but nothing that she couldn’t ignore.

She did not turn to look at him until she closed the door to her room. He was standing behind her, silent, waiting for her to speak.

She felt the tears overflow, although she made no sound until he stepped close to her and gently cupped her jaw. One soft sob escape her and she clutched onto the fur of his coat to keep her in this moment. This was real and not a nightmare. She felt his other arm wrap around her and give her a tight squeeze, just as she would do for him when the pain of withdrawal came. A gesture that allowed her to be assured she was still one piece, not crumbling apart. The sobs caused her small form to quake against him, allowing herself to show her weakness. She trusted him with her vulnerability.

After what seemed like an eternity, she finally drew a deep breath and felt his grip loosen. She felt moisture all over her face, made worse by leaning against the metal armor and pulled away, attempting to wipe some if it with her sleeve.

Her eyes met his golden ones, searching for subtle hints on what he could do to ease the pain.

“I must look like a snotty child who just scrapped their knee.”

He gasped out a laugh, causing her to laugh and allow that light feeling to enter her chest. He reached out to stroke the delicate lines of the vallaslin on her cheeks. “You always look beautiful.” He smirked before adding “Although I do want to fetch you a cold towel for your face.”

She laughed a little and leaned into the gentle kiss he placed on her forehead. Right on cue, a small knock came to the door and he pushed behind her ear before going to answer the door. She walked over to her desk and placed the letter, slightly wrinkled from the tight clutch, onto her desk. She paid no mind to the voices behind her as she smoothed the letter open again.

A glass of water came into her view and she looked over her shoulder. “Leliana sent them with water.” She nodded and took the cup, drinking slowly. She continued letting her eyes wander over the words on the page. She listened as he moved toward the fireplace.

“He and I were born during the same month.” She paused, taking another drink of water. “He and I enjoyed nature, both enjoyed sneaking about and surprising other members of the clan.” She smiled gently, allowing a little giggle to pass her lips. “One time, we snuck up on them during a hunt. We were young.” She shook her head. “Poor Falael almost got an arrow in him. They knew to train the pair of us for hunting then.”

She let out a shaky sigh and drained the cup. “The clan is close-knit but he and I… he made me feel less alone in this world. Like the sibling I never had…” she felt fresh tears threaten to spill over. “I had just written to him. The Keeper says he was able to see it before…”

She felt his hand on her shoulder and turned to him. He had removed his armor and leathers and she noticed it was neatly placed atop a chair. She always felt so small next to him, even when he was just in linens. It was something that she loved about being with him. He brought a wet cloth to her face and gently cleaned away the slight layer of mucus. She giggled slightly, the gathered moisture slipping free, thinking she must really resemble a child right now.

He gave her a gentle smile when he finished, placing the towel down on the side of the desk. He put both hands on her face and gently bent, placing a kiss on her forehead. She closed her eyes and leaned into him, feeling his lips on each eyelid, her nose, then her lips. It was a slow deep kiss, one that demanded nothing but gave everything. She pushed up and wrapped her arms around him, suddenly needing every part of him.

His hands moved to her hips, moving one arm under her to scoop her up against him. He carried her to her bed and gently sat her on it, making no move to do anything more than continue tasting her. She pulled away slightly, pressing her forehead to his.

“Just… need some time to be in my own head. Tomorrow I can be with the others. But I need tonight for myself and…” She pulled away to look at his face, seeing his eyes downcast slightly before cupping his chin and pulling his gaze toward her. “Stay with me?”

His eyes suddenly glittered like the sunset. “Of course.”

She moved to pull everything but her smalls off and moved under the covers. He followed her, removing the linens before sliding next to her and pulling her toward him.

The night was long, as would be the days that followed. She would find comfort in the heat that surrounded her, the gentle brushes down her back and sides, and the soft breath against her hair and the tips of her ears that reminded her that she was not alone. She was loved.

**Author's Note:**

> translation of the title: I am filled with sorrow for your loss, my heart.
> 
> Mostly a lot of feelings that needed to be written out so I hope some of yall enjoyed it.
> 
> In loving memory of Monty Oum, an inspiration to everyone out there that time is precious. Make the most of it, don't give up because you think you're not good enough, and most of all  
> Keep moving forward


End file.
